


Non Requiescit Nisi In Amore (She Only Rests in Love)

by Rinari7



Series: Nikolija 'Verse [3]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/F, Fake Character Death, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Genderswapped Canon Male Character, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10064081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: How Nikolija deals with the aftermath of the Old Sanctuary explosion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nikola Tesla is female. Otherwise pretty much canon.

**1\. Denial**

They waited on the lawn outside the building, Nikolija and Henry, until it became too dangerous as the flames leapt higher and threatened to trace their way across the grass. Then they retreated across the street, ducking into a doorway as it began to drizzle, and watched as the fire department tried to control the blaze, and waited some more, until they were nearly asleep on their feet — or Henry was, at least. Only then did Nikolija make her way to a nearby safehouse — if only because Helen would have her head if anything happened to Wolfgang that could have easily been prevented.

At the safe house, they waited some more, trying to organize the chaos that was the masses of traumatized and homeless abnormals in the meantime, rather expecting Helen to show up any minute to take charge and settle things with her flawless efficiency.  
But she didn't show, and no one at any of the other refuges had heard from her either, and so, the next night, with a tightness in her chest, Nikolija went back to what was now the ruins of the Old City Sanctuary, and began to dig through the rubble.  
Others joined her, once they realized what she was doing, and the main lab was cleared by that morning, with only the bodies of the infiltrators to be found. Of course the great Helen Magnus wouldn't let herself just die like that. Tired but elated with hope, they slept through the morning and went back to managing their refugee crisis.

But Helen didn't show up that day, either, and that night’s search of the still comparatively intact catacombs yielded nothing. Some of those with better senses of smell were asked to cover the grounds, but all they could pick up on was soot and ash and the scent of the river. And then, somehow, it had been a week, without any sign of her, and all the likely places had been searched and cleared, and Nikolija was very nearly digging alone again, the others too caught up or too tired, and unable to look her in the eye.

Even Henry had opposed it, in his own quiet way, as she left that night. “Either she's going to turn up again, or she isn't. Either way, she'd want us to keep going, and do what we can… here.” He gestured vaguely to the abnormals still crowded together in the small space, most of them sleeping on the bare floor, because the safe house really wasn't equipped to handle these numbers.  
Nikolija had ignored him.

She was digging through the rubble of one of the back storerooms; a long shot, but it did have an entrance to the underground tunnels… And by the back wall, there was a body. Charred, definitely female, with a net of fried and blackened wires over her chest that very much resembled Heinrich's futile attempt at a shield-suit.  
Nikolija dropped the chunk of stone she was holding, and the sudden pain in her foot was almost welcome.

 

**2\. Anger**

How dare she? How dare she not at least mention that stupid plan? How dare Helen not at least let her prepare for this final abandonment?  
_Because she knew you would have tried to stop her_ , her mind ever-so-helpfully supplied. She ignored it.

She had known, in the end, only too late; she had felt her throat close up as she was told to leave, had heard the unspoken goodbye against her lips, had steeled herself against she-didn’t-know-what as she helped seal the building.

How dare Helen yet again play the hero?

Nikolija paced, wineglass filled with water in hand, more for the familiarity of the sensation than because she actually intended to drink it. Moonlight refracted through the water to dance on the kitchen ceiling, and Helen’s last moments flashed through her mind, an incessant torture. How dare Helen kiss her, like that, and then — how dare she have sent her away, after that? How dare she?

She nearly stumbled over someone sleeping on the floor, and bit back a curse. Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it. She couldn't stand the Sanctuary safe house any longer, couldn't stand the grandfather clock that reminded her of the one in Gregory Magnus’ sitting room, couldn’t stand the forlorn faces of Henry and Will and Kate and so many others who had known Dr. Magnus, couldn’t stand the sight of all the wretched abnormals for whom Helen had sacrificed her life, from whom she had received nothing in return.

How _dare_ she be gone?

Nikolija stalked out the front door of the unassuming building, jumpstarted the first motorcycle she found, and didn't look back.

 

**3\. Bargaining**

Nikolija didn’t beg, she didn’t plead; she wasn’t even sure there was a God at all — leaning distinctly towards a “no.” If there was, if he had any sense of compassion or fairness or an appreciation for what was good for the world, Helen Magnus would not be dead.

Nikolija most definitely did not beg, or haggle, or bargain. But _what if?_ was no foreign question to her. _What if_ an electric current oscillated? _What if_ one could use an electromagnetic field to transmit electricity and eliminate any need for wires? _What if_ one could transmit information through radio waves?

 _What if_ she hadn’t gone her separate way, so many years ago, off to America, because Helen had John and James and that seemed to be enough, for her? _What if_ Nikolija had stayed, had worked with the abnormals too, more? Would Helen have trusted her enough, then? To tell her of her plans, to maybe trust her to help? Would Helen still be alive now?

 _What if_ Nikolija hadn’t stayed away so long? _What if_ she had embraced her talents more, her natural ferocity, made sure to exercise more control? _What if_ Helen had trusted her to be a guard, an ally, not someone to be sent away when it came down to it? Would Helen still be alive now?

 _What if_ Nikolija hadn’t left, when she had been told to? _What if_ she’d stayed, helped Helen fight Caleb and the others, given her more time to get out? Would Helen still be alive?

_What if?_

Two words, far too light for their repercussions, and they twirled around and around in Nikolija’s mind as she sped through a red light and kept going, through the night and then the next day and then the next night again, aimless.

 

**4\. Depression**

Nikolija had always had a pronounced talent for wallowing. But this was more than that. There was an emptiness that neither wine nor pigeons nor time, even, she discovered, could fill. It gaped and hurt until even she grew tired of it, and then it pierced deeper. She couldn't leave it behind, not in Peru, or Singapore, or Siberia, and she wondered precisely when Helen’s name had been etched into her heart.  
She'd gone without seeing Helen before, lived quite well without her, in fact, but this was different. It wasn't that she wasn't here now, but the stark awareness that she wasn't anywhere at all.

Whenever Nikolija felt her claws grow, whenever she heard her own hiss, she remembered blond curls and dark locks and wonder and fear dancing in brilliant blue eyes, and it hurt more than any bullet ever had.  
She stopped transforming, if she could help it.

The laws of physics merely tempted, but did not truly seduce; she scrawled out blueprints almost in a half-sleep, only to later find an optimization she kicked herself for missing the first time around — and then, when she thought of a way to misuse it, she finally ripped the design to pieces, and threw it away.

Her nights were spent, more often than not, wandering the streets of wherever she was at the time, glaring at the merciless heavens and avoiding the eyes of other equally lost souls. Eternity suddenly stretched long and empty before her.

 

**5\. Acceptance**

It was on a particularly bad day, tossing and turning on too-soft pillows in a lavish hotel in Zagreb, wishing not for the first time, or even the thousandth, that the oblivion of sleep didn't escape her so easily, that she gave it up.

Willingly, she thought of Helen Magnus, dwelled on her, utterly: on her fire, her passion, her hunger for knowledge, her dedication; on her brilliant smile, on those rare occasions when she was truly delighted; on the way Helen had said her name, once upon a time, with affection and frank trust and the warm pleasure of a shared secret; on the way she’d never let anything stand in her way, not for long; on the way Helen had risked much for her, time and again, how Helen had helped her seem to die, so that Nikolija could continue her work.

With a sigh, Nikolija sat up, tossing back the quilt, and began to make plans. The first order of business would be to keep any more of her inventions from being used against abnormals. It was, maybe, the least she could do.

 

**+1. Resurrection**

The gray halls of SCIU facilities all blended together after a while, or even after the third. The guards’ bullets had stung a little more than usual, this time, and Nikolija examined one for a moment after she dug it out from beside her sternum. It didn’t look like anything new, but she still slipped it into a pocket and briefly debated kicking the now-unconscious member of the night patrol responsible a few more times, just for good measure.  
But, really, her virus was already making its way through the facility’s computer systems, and the all the advanced prototypes she had found were either in her bag or completely destroyed, and she was more than ready to leave again.

Then the heavy steel security doors swung open, and there was yet another gun pointed at her, and Nikolija stopped dead in her tracks as she nearly ran into the other woman. 

“Nikolija?!” Her tone was tinged with tense disbelief.

“Helen,” Nikolija breathed, and wondered if she were hallucinating. Her hair was blond, again, now, or nearly, a bit shorter than it had been, and her eyes were bright with surprise, but she looked as she always had, a face that would quite possibly never change and that Nikolija could never forget. And she was still striking in leather.

Helen glanced down the hall, to where the guards were laid out on the floor, and set her shoulders, and bristled. “You’d better have a good explanation—”

Fuck her. _Fuck_ her. And then, Nikolija kissed her, tangling her claws in her hair, putting all her fury and the desperation she had thought long buried into that press of her lips to Helen’s mouth, the instinctive, hard nip she didn’t care to suppress.

Helen was shoving at her shoulders, hard, so that Nikolija stumbled back. Sucking in a breath, Helen retreated a step herself, her gaze darting between unconscious guards and lingering on Nikolija.  
“Just _what_ do you think you’re doing?” said with a little too much bite behind it, as Helen swallowed and wet her lower lip.

A naive urge welled up, to simply lay her head against Helen's and close her eyes, despite their surroundings, and Nikolija rejected it out of hand.  
Hoarsely, holding Helen's gaze, she replied, “Isn’t that how we welcome friends back from the dead?”

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [vienne_la_nuit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vienne_la_nuit/) for her suggestions and insights, as well as having prompted the inspiration for all of this in the first place.
> 
> I did my best with the Latin, but if it's off, please let me know and I'll fix it.


End file.
